The Crippled God

innermost thoughts were hidden from me. I feel … sullied.’
    He moved closer, slipped an arm round her. ‘Was there no other way?’
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But this was the quickest. She had some interesting opinions on the Malazans.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Doesn’t trust them. Her people didn’t fare well during the Malazan conquest of Genabackis. Yet for all that resentment, a part of her recognizes that some good came of it in the end. The enforcement of laws and justice, and so on. Hasn’t dulled her hatred, though.’
    ‘Trust,’ Brys mused. ‘Always a difficult issue.’
    ‘Well,’ Aranict said, ‘Tavore is hiding something.’
    ‘I believe what she is hiding is her awareness of just how wretched her chances are, Aranict.’
    ‘But that’s just it,’ Aranict said. ‘From what I gleaned from Precious Thimble, the Malazans never do something at which they’re likely to fail. So if Tavore’s chances look as bad as we all seem to think, what are we missing?’
    ‘Now that is an interesting question,’ Brys admitted.
    ‘Anyway,’ Aranict said, ‘they’ll be coming with us to Kolanse.’
    ‘Very well. Can we trust them?’
    Aranict settled back on the mat with a heavy sigh. ‘No.’
    ‘Ah. Will that prove a problem?’
    ‘I doubt it. If Precious Thimble attempts to draw upon a Hold, she’ll get her head ripped off by all that raw power. Too young, and doesn’t know what she’s doing.’
    ‘Hmm. Could such a personal disaster put anyone else at risk?’
    ‘It could, Brys. Good thing you brought me along, isn’t it?’
    He lay down beside her. ‘Whatever happened to the shy, nervous woman I made my Atri-Ceda?’
    ‘You seduced her, you fool.’
    ‘Errant’s push!’ She sank down on to her knees, head hanging, her breath coming in gasps.
    Spax drew up his leggings, stepped away from where she knelt close to the tent’s back wall. ‘Best dessert there is,’ he said. ‘Better run off now. I have to see your mother, and if she catches a glimpse of you anywhere near here, she’ll know.’
    ‘What if she does?’ Spultatha snapped. ‘It’s not as if she’s opened her legs to you, is it?’
    He snorted. ‘Like a royal vault, she is.’
    ‘You’re not good-looking enough. And you smell.’
    ‘I smell like a Gilk White Face Barghast, woman, and you’ve hardly complained.’
    She rose, straightening her tunic. ‘I am now.’
    ‘Your mother is growing ever more protective of her daughters,’ he said, scratching with both hands at his beard. ‘Spirits below, this dust gets everywhere.’
    Spultatha slipped past him without another word. He watched her head off into the night, and then made his way round the royal train’s equipment tent. Opposite waited the queen’s tent, two guards stationed out front.
    ‘Is she ready for me?’ Spax asked as he approached.
    ‘Too late for that,’ one replied, and the other grunted a laugh. They stepped clear to allow him passage. He went inside, and then through to the inner chamber.
    ‘Can she walk?’
    ‘Highness?’
    Abrastal drank down the last of her wine, lifted up the goblet. ‘My third in a row. I’m not looking forward to this, and having to listen to one of my own daughters squeal like a myrid with a herder’s hand up its arse has hardly improved my mood.’
    ‘She’s untutored in the ways of real men,’ Spax responded. ‘Where do you want me for this?’
    Abrastal gestured to one side of the tent. ‘There. Weapons drawn.’
    The Warchief raised his brows, but said nothing as he walked over to where she had indicated.
    ‘This will be a kind of gate,’ Abrastal said, folding her legs as she settled back in her chair. ‘Things could come through, and to make matters worse it’ll be hard to make out what we’re seeing – there will be a veil between us. If the situation sours, it can be torn, either by whatever is on the other side, or by you going through.’
    ‘Going through? Highness—’
    ‘Be quiet. You are in my employ and you will do what you’re told.’
    Swamp shit, we really did put her in a foul mood. Oh well . He drew his long knives and crouched down. ‘If I’d known I would have brought my axes.’
    ‘What do your shamans tell you, Spax, about your Barghast gods?’
    He blinked. ‘Why, nothing, Firehair. Why should they? I’m the Warchief. I deal in matters of war. All that other rubbish is for them to worry over.’
    ‘And are they?’
    ‘Are they what?’
    ‘Worried.’
    ‘They’re